Space Visitor Read online

  Li Ching nodded. “The psychiatrists at the Embassy of the People’s Republic worked on me. It’s surprising how little effect it seems to have had.”

  “Ditto,” Brett-James said.

  “How about you, Kike?”

  “Not me,” the Israeli said cheerfully. “I still love you all to distraction, especially the girls.”

  “But not a hundred million pseudo-dollars worth, eh?” Brecht said sourly, washing down his Danish with the last last of the coffee.

  Zimmerman pantomimed hurt feelings. “I was going to split it with you. We would then have lived happily ever afterwards.”

  Foucault, standing to one side seemingly waiting for any forthcoming orders, had been taking in the conversation thus far as though without interest. But at Zimmerman’s words he scowled.

  Brecht looked up at the French-Moroccan. “Amazon, do you have a gun?”

  “Why, yes, Senor Brecht. I am your bodyguard, as well as your—butler.”

  “Could I see it?”

  Frowning now, the other hesitated for a moment but then reached beneath his coat and brought forth a laser pistol..He walked to where Brecht sat and handed it over.

  “Careful with that,” he cautioned. “Do you understand its workings?”

  “No, I don’t,” the Peruvian told him and with that he dropped the gun into his jacket pocket.

  “What do you think you are doing?”

  All eyes were on Brecht now. He said reasonably, “I don’t want an armed Commie around me. For all I know, the Kremlin might decide that since it didn’t have a chance of getting me to tell them where the spaceship is, the best thing would be to liquidate me before somebody else talked me into giving up the secret. And guess who is on the scene to do it?”

  “Commie?” Brett-James queried. “I say, what in the devil are you talking about, Kraut?”

  “The Amazon here is a Commie agent. Last night he tried to bribe the Kike into getting me to reveal the spaceship’s location. The Kike bribes easy.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the Kike,” Azikiwe protested.

  “The hell it doesn’t,” Zimmerman said, cheerful still. And then to Brecht, “What do you mean easy? A hundred million pseudo-dollars… Each man has his price; I admit that’s mine. I like the way the sum rolls around on the tongue.”

  Foucault was still staring in frustration at the man who had taken his gun. He said indignantly, “I could get that away from you.”

  Brecht shook his head. “I doubt it. There are five of us here and I suspect the other four are just as anxious not to see me shot as I am. Even our corrupted Kike: You see, he still loves me. The Chink, by the way, knows kempo, so I understand; and the Nigger, judo. You’d have quite a time taking the gang of us. Of course, you’re free to try.”

  The French-Moroccan stayed put. “I suppose you want me to leave.”

  “Not at all, not at all,” Brecht told him. “You make a wonderful Man Friday. We don’t have any secrets around here that you can’t hear—save my one big one. I just didn’t want you trotting around with a gun.”

  Foucault was furious. He spun on his heel and stomped out of the room.

  “By George,” Brett-James murmured. “You’ve hurt his feelings.”

  Brecht turned back to the others. “Well, since most of you made your play and flubbed it—some conspirators you are—you might as well take off.”

  “Take off where?” Zimmerman asked.

  “Anywhere you want. Go on back to Israel, or wherever. Nobody’s got anything against you. You’ll get your pension.”

  “The hell with that,” Zimmerman said, indignation in his voice. “I’m in this for the duration. There’s too much fun and games going on to leave now.” He looked about the suite. “Besides, if I’m not going to get my split of the hundred million, the next best thing would be to continue living here.” He leered at the two women. “Good booze, good broads… and everything.”

  Li Ching snorted.

  Brett-James said thoughtfully. “Besides, there might be some elements that don’t believe that lie test was really true. They might pick up any one of us and twist our arms a bit, don’t you know. “I think I’ll stick around as well.”

  “I’m in for the duration too,” Azikiwe said. “I’d feel like I was letting the team down if I went back to Africa at this stage.”

  “Thanks, Nigger,” Brecht said.

  Li Ching’s eyes were on the floor. She said humbly, “I too will stay, if you will have me. I am ashamed of what I did last night.”

  At that point, Mary Lou entered the room, followed by one of the guards carrying her small bag.

  “Yawl back already?” Zimmerman said.

  “How is your mother, dear?” Azikiwe asked.

  “She’s all right, thanks,” Mary Lou said. She looked at her lover. “I came back as soon as I could. This must be terribly trying for you. You should see some of the headlines. Why, most people seem to have no conception of what you’re talking about, what your motivation is. Many think you should be forced in some manner to reveal where the ship is.”

  “They’ll get around to that,” Zimmerman said. “Don’t think they won’t.” He looked directly at Brecht. “There’s a lot of different ways to force the information out of you, Kraut. Physical ways, chemical ways.”

  “I know,” Brecht said. “The only reason they haven’t already tried is that they can’t decide who is to have the privilege. And none of them trusts any of the others.”

  The guard had put Mary Lou’s bag down and left the room. And now Foucault reentered.

  He said suavely, “I am happy to see that you have returned so soon, Yawl.”

  “Those nicknames are used only among we six, Foucault.” Brecht brought the laser pistol from his pocket and pointed it at him. “Frisk him, Kike.”

  Zimmerman’s eyebrows went up, but he obeyed. Taking care not to come between the French-Moroccan and the gun, he circled behind him and carefully shook him down. He discovered another laser pistol. “Well, I’ll be buggered,” he said. “A two-gun man.”

  “He went to report to his superiors. It would seem they must be right here in this same building, or he wouldn’t have gotten back so soon. He simply got himself another gun.” Brecht looked at Zimmerman. “You keep that one. I assume you know how to use it.”

  He turned to Brett-James and handed over the gun he had taken earlier. “And you better have this one. If he turns up with still another, I’ll keep that, although I’d probably shoot my foot off with it.”

  Azikiwe said, “I can use a laser pistol. I used to have one in Nigeria.”

  “Some toys you have in Nigeria.” Brecht said. “But okay. The next gat the Amazon turns up with goes to you. If he keeps up this pace, soon we’ll all be armed.”

  The French-Moroccan was livid. He stomped out of the room again.

  Brett-James was laughing.“I say, I’ll wager his superiors give him the works this time.”

  “Yeah.” Zimmerman laughed too. “But I’ll bet they don’t give him another gun.”

  Mary Lou slumped down into a chair. “What the devil goes on around here?” she said. “I’m not out of sight of the five of you for more than twenty-four hours and everything happens but the building burning down.”

  Zimmerman chuckled. “All of us have been approached in attempts to get the location of the extraterrestrial ship from the Boche, one way or another. Evidently he’s smarter than he looks; none of us was able to do it. And now that he’s on his guard, we’ve given up. Or, at least, I have. And we’ve all decided to rally around, don’t you know,” he grinned at Brett-James, “and see this thing through to whatever end—probably ours.”

  Brecht looked at Mary Lou questioningly. “How about Yawl?” ‘s

  “I’m staying too, of course.”

  “You sure you shouldn’t be down in South Carolina with your mother, darling?”

  “No. She’s quite all right.”

  “How about some more coffee
all around?” Azikiwe said. “Yawl, have you had breakfast?” She rose to her feet, preparatory to going into the dining room.

  “Yes, thanks, Nigger.” She turned to Brecht, her face worried. “But so far you still haven’t told anybody?”

  “So far.”

  Azikiwe came back from the dining room with a coffee pot and six cups in a stack. “The damn coffee’s lukewarm,*’ she complained. “Anybody want some?”

  “In spite of the hour, I’ll have a drink instead,” Zimmerman said.

  The others took the lukewarm coffee while he went over to the bar and poured himself a Scotch and soda.

  “I miss that bastard Amazon,” he said suddenly. “I always wanted to be waited on hand and foot, and now, when I finally get someone to do it, the goddamned Boche here drives him off.”

  “I suspect he’ll be back,” Brett-James said. “By George, the Soviets must be frantic. They’re the only major power that doesn’t have a contact on the team.”

  “I’m their contact,” Zimmerman said earnestly, returning with his drink. “One hundred million pseudo-bucks. How much do you have to pay in tax on that sort of income?”

  “You never have to pay income tax on a hundred million pseudo-dollars,” Mary Lou explained. “Not here in America. When you have that sort of money, you can hire a flock of tax experts and not pay anything at all. It’s an American institution.”

  “Tut tut, don’t be bitter, Yawl,” Zimmerman said. “I hate a bitter woman.” He looked reflective. “I bitter woman once, and she bit me back.”

  Brett-James groaned.

  Brecht put his coffee cup down and looked around.

  “All right, team, now we get down to basics,” he began. “I suggest you all reconsider. The real trouble will begin shortly. There’s no reason for any of you to be in the line of fire. You didn’t start this. I did.”

  “Oh, I say, old chap, let’s not be ridiculous, you know,” Brett-James put in. “All for one and one for all and all that rot.”

  Brecht looked at the Englishman. “They’re running around as though their heads were cut off, Your Majesty. But they’re going to get organized shortly, and then they’ll land on me like a ton of crap. They want that spaceship. They want it so bad they can taste it. So far, everyone who wants it wants if for themselves—exclusively. But even that might end. You might get various mergers, like United America and Common Europe, or the Soviet Complex and the People’s Republic of China, or any other combination. The Nigger, for instance, tells me that the Afro-Asian Bloc would like an in. Sooner or later, they’re going to lower the boom on me—and those close to me. What happens if they get hold of one of you and stick in the thumbscrews, with me watching. Do you think that under this hypnotic affection thing I could watch you being tortured? I might be able to stick it out if I was the one getting it, but how about if it was Yawl, or the Chink, or the Nigger?”

  “Perhaps you had best give up, Boche, I should think,” Brett-James said softly. “No man should carry the burdens of the world on his back. Let them do it. Let them work it out, don’t you know.”

  “Yes, I suspect I do know. The world would wind up blown to bits,” Brecht said bitterly. “We’re savages.”

  Azikiwe, who had taken the seat next to Mary Lou, spoke up. “What did you think was going to happen when you first dreamed up this idea of keeping the location secret?”

  He made a face. “I’m not sure I know. Perhaps that the Reunited Nations would make some sort of supreme effort and become the organization it originally set out to be. Under a real Reunited Nations, perhaps I would eventually have seen fit to give out the information. At least I think I would. I’d really have to trust them first.”

  “Well,” Brett-James said. “I dare say it won’t be too long before we find out. According to the news this morning, they are going to begin debating the subject today.”

  Mary Lou snorted and sipped at her cold coffee. “If it’s like the rest of their Reunited Nations debates on anything important, it’ll take forever.” And Zimmerman said with unwonted gravity, “Meanwhile, our four powers aren’t going to be idle. I’m glad we’ve got these two laser pistols, at least.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  In the dimly lit Men’s Bar of the Nuovo Italo-American Club, four young men sat about a table in an isolated alcove. They had made sure to pick a spot where they couldn’t be heard, and couldn’t be approached without warning.

  Joseph Nazioni, the eldest of the quartet and their recognized leader, said softly, “It would be the biggest caper of all times.” He was a slight man, quick of movement, a bit on the nervous side. His dark good looks, his sharp dark eyes, his beautifully barbered black hair reflected his Italian ancestry. Like the other three, he was perfectly groomed, his suit probably the product of London tailors, rather than the flashier Roman ones.

  Luigi Galanti, the youngest, heavyset, said, “But the day of the caper is over, Joe. With the cops as efficient as they are, and the tough laws against carrying guns and so forth, only a jerk would stick his neck out. Besides, those that do try to take a score have their work cut out for them. With almost all business done with universal credit cards, you don’t get enough money together in one pile to make it worth swiping.”

  Rudi Mecholam put in, “I’m inclined to back Luigi. The day of the caper is over. It’s a sucker’s game. Today we’re legitimate—all of the families. Even when we go in for something like gambling, it’s legitimate gambling, in Vegas and Reno, or over in the Bahamas or Monte Carlo. Even when we’ve got interests in the unions, they’re legal unions, not any of that waterfront stuff of fifty years ago. We never stick our necks out. The families have got their money tied up in resorts, restaurant chains, hotels, even in banks and securities. We even pay income tax. Hell, my family alone retains twenty lawyers on a full-time basis. We never do anything they could hang a rap on.”

  Nazioni looked at the last member of the group.

  Tolomeo Gallio was the least vocal of the four. His people must have come from Northern Italy; he was comparatively fair and his eyes were blue. He said, “Tell us about it, Joe.”

  Nazioni looked at each of them, then took a pull at his Scotch. Then he made his pitch. “Rudi and Luigi were right when they said that the caper has become a sucker’s game. The day of robbing a bank is over. Sucker stuff. As a result, none of us has a record. None of us has ever even been fingerprinted. We have Ivy League degrees. We’re clean. That has its advantages.”

  “Go on,” Gallio said.

  “But there’s another thing. None of us is prominent in our families. Not one of us has a chance ever to become a Don. Oh, we’ll all live well enough. The families take care of their own. But we’ll never hit the top.”

  The others shifted in their chairs. But they nodded.

  “This would be the jackpot.”

  “How big a jackpot?” Galanti said.

  Nazioni looked at him and grinned. “What would you say to a billion pseudo-dollars?”

  “I’d say you’re out of your mind,” Gallio said.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Whoever you got it from would hit you the minute the deal was over.”

  “No they wouldn’t. We’d have it delivered to a bank in Switzerland and divvy it up. Anyway, maybe it’d be best to spend the rest of our lives there; nobody ever gets hit in Switzerland. With a quarter of a billion apiece, we could build houses ass-deep in security and surround ourselves with guards. We’d be able to live as high on the hog as you can get.”

  “Who’s going to give you a billion dollars?” Mecholam muttered. “That’s crazy.”

  “No it’s not. In fact, that’s peanuts. Maybe we ought to put the guy up in kind of an auction. Let him go to the biggest bidder. What the hell’s a billion pseudo-dollars to United America, or a billion rubles to the Soviet Complex? Hell, we could demand it in gold!”

  They sat silently for a long time.

  Finally, Gallio said, “All right, what’s the story? I�
��m not buying it yet, but let’s hear your plan.”

  “He’s in the penthouse of the Reunited Nations Building.”

  “And shit-deep in guards,” Galanti added.

  “The guards are all around, but not in the suite they occupy. They only go inside when something special comes up. He’s alone in there with the five other members of the Luna team and one guy who amounts to a butler.”

  “Well, how in the hell can we get him out, if there’s guards all around?”

  Nazioni said very slowly, “At night, the office rooms directly under the suite are unoccupied. There’s only one watchman on the floor. Then we move fast. We cut a hole in the floor right below the bathroom for his room, and go up and snatch him.”

  “How do you know where his bathroom is?” Mecholam demanded.

  Nazioni grinned at him. “I got to one of the maids who helps make up the rooms for this Luna team. She drew me a plan of the suite.”

  “Did you say cut a hole in the floor?” Gallio asked.

  “That’s right. With a laser. During the day one of us dresses like a workman, takes a ladder up to the floor below and leaves it in a broom closet. At two in the morning, the building is damn near empty—I’ve cased it. We haul him out to an elevator and take him all the way down to the car pool in the basement. We grab a car and take off.”

  “Oh, we do, eh? With all the watchmen taking a shot at us?” Galanti scoffed.

  There’s not a person in the world who doesn’t know that guy’s face. Certainly everybody who works in the Reunited Nations Building knows he’s there. They’ve seen his face in the papers and on TV. They won’t shoot. They’d be afraid of nailing him. He’s the most important guy in the world, which ‘ exactly why he’s worth at least a billion.”

  “Okay,” Mecholam conceded. “And then what?”

  “Standard procedure for a snatch, the way they pulled them in the old days. We take him to a hideout and then we approach the governments of United America, Common Europe, the Soviet Complex, and the People’s Republic of China. Highest bidder gets him.”